


The Queen

by JoannaBaratheon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 19:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12195984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoannaBaratheon/pseuds/JoannaBaratheon
Summary: Bran dreams.He tells his father of a warrior Queen who reminds him of his sister, a man so much like his bastard brother and a blue-eyed man prepared to die for love.He sees the Queen lives.He sees the Queen love.He sees the Queen die.





	The Queen

Ned knew that his children’s antics were pulling him to an early grave, he couldn’t count the number of grey hairs he had been finding recently, despite how much Catelyn denied their existence. He sometimes wondered what his life would be like if Robb had been an only child, no wild siblings… just enough to give Winterfell an heir. 

Robb was a good son, no one could ever deny that, but as honourable as he was he was not ready to take on the responsibility of being Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Emotions still very much ruled the young man, quick to anger and quick to love. However, Robb knew his duty and would eventually do what was expected of him. Ned imagined that if he had been in Robb’s place then he would have grown to be similar; it was obvious that Ned had faced wars whilst his son was a child of summer, a stranger to strife. 

Sansa, her mother’s daughter. Both in image and acts she was exactly like Catelyn when she first arrived in Winterfell all those years ago. As much as he loved his oldest daughter she had been spoiled by her mother who encouraged her to be a perfect lady and in turn disregard any traditionally masculine activities. The pretty child wanted nothing more than to marry a handsome Lord who would dote upon her and give her a dozen handsome sons. Over the years he had received many letters requesting her hand in marriage, and he knew that Sansa would happily accepted any of them just so long as they were pretty and lived in a large castle. Though the majority of Westerosi ladies were the same he couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment at how willing she was to conform. 

Arya would be Ned’s death. Though she was still just a wild little girl he knew that the years to come would be the most troublesome he had ever faced. He would happily swap another rebellion by the Iron Islands over trying to accommodate a marriage for his darling wolf. To the rest of Winterfell Arya Stark was a plain, violent, untamed beast who was unsuitable for any respectable marriage. When Ned looked at her he didn’t see a monster… he saw a ghost. Every time that Arya would pick up a sword or ride a horse or even laugh he saw a young woman who ran away for love and died because of it. Watching her run around with Jon he imagined that Lyanna’s ghost was watching over her son in the form of Ned’s daughter. It was not just in appearance but personality too. Just like her aunt, Arya was full of passion, a spirit that would allow no man to tame, a direwolf fiercely loyal and wouldn’t hesitate to destroy anyone who threatened her pack. There was also the side of Arya that she tried to hide: a heart big enough to encompass the world, a natural charisma that bonded even the most unlikely allies and a desire to fit in. 

“Father?” 

The young boy approached his father, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he approached him.

“Bran… you should be in bed, you don’t want me to wake your Lady mother?” Ned tried to reason with the child, to little effect.

Bran’s face was as pale as snow, an almost deathly visage that was just as cold to the touch.

“I had a dream” he began nervously, “I don’t understand what it was about.”

Pulling the boy on to his knee Ned encouraged him to explain the dream, hoping that he could uncover what exactly had driven Bran from his chambers, across the castle, and into his father’s chambers at this time of night. 

“I saw a girl.”

“A girl?”

“And a boy.”

Coaxing any information out of his son was like attempting to get Arya into a dress or Jon to cut his hair. 

‘What did they look like, Bran, tell me more.”

He bit his lip nervously before continuing. “I think she was Arya, she looked like her but older, maybe 17 name days old. Arya was wearing boys clothes, like she tries to do now, and she had a sword.”

Sensing that there was more Ned asked: “sword? As stubborn as she is I doubt she can wield a proper sword-“

“No.” Bran interrupted. “Not like Ice at all. It was thin and she could fight with it, she looked like she was dancing with it… like a needle.”

This time Bran didn’t need prompting and instead continued, the swords drawing out of his mouth almost like a song.

“She was very pretty, not like now. She was then sitting on a throne, a throne here in the great hall. There was a crown on her head made out of blue roses. A Queen. All the men were knelt down, they began shouting: ‘Queen in the North’ ‘Queen in the North’ ‘Queen in the North.

“To her right was a wolf, bigger than any I have ever seen, larger than any horse in the stables yet it sat there as loyally as a dog. To her left was the boy, a man really.”

Ned found himself speechless, unable to interrupt the magic.

“He reminded me of you, father, dark curls and grey eyes. He was draped in fur and at his side was a sword, his fingers tight around the hilt, ready for any battle. The Queen calls him her Hand, brother and cousin all in the same sentence. He smiles at everything she says, calls her little sister and I think that he would die for her like the knights in the tales Sansa likes to read. 

“Another man approaches the Queen and throws himself to the floor, I think he expects her to kill him. He would let her kill him. He is a large man, the tallest in the room and somehow, he manages to carry a hammer around with him. The weight of the hammer doesn’t mean anything to him as he moves, as if it’s part of him. Strands of black shield his eyes, blue like mine but dark and deep. He isn’t dressed in Northern clothes like everyone else, his clothes are thin and old, not enough for the snow I can see outside the window. 

“He begs m’lady’s forgiveness, he is sorry for ever wanting to leave her and puts himself as her mercy. Instead of punishing him the Queen walks over to him and forces him to his feet. He’s so much taller than her but she has all the power. She tells him that she isn’t a lady and that he never had to come and swear allegiance to her, that she never wanted him to serve her, he just had to be a friend.

“I see the Queen and her two men riding into battle, an army behind them. I’ve never seen anything like it before, a woman leading her men into battle. But she is better than any man, a Queen like no other. She wins the battle, but her men have died. The two boys who would die for her did just that. Once the fighting is over she clutches their bodies but doesn’t cry. She builds a tomb for them in the crypts, and beside them she has an empty space where she will one day join them.

“The Queens rules her people for many years and gains many names: the warrior queen, the night wolf, death, no-one and even the rose of winter but never does anyone call her wife or mother. Apart from her direwolf she lives and loves alone, there is a sadness around her that can never leave. Despite this she continues every day, and it is only alone in her chambers when she can grieve for her lost loves. 

“She grows old, her head full of grey hairs and her wolf grows weaker with her. The snow falls strongly the day she dies and the sound of wolves howling outside is deafening but as she draws her last breath they are silent. The Queen and her direwolf never move again, their bodies lying on the bed surrounding by no family or friends, no-one who she loved. 

“They bury her in between her dead lovers, where she had always belonged. All of Westeros mourns. But she was not sad to die, she welcomed death like an old friend, accepting that it is her time. The Queen is young once more as she sees her lovers, the three of them reunite and the Queen cries as she has never done before. 

“A wolf… a dragon… a stag…”

Ned feels a dampness on his cheek and realises he has been crying. Once they begin he can’t stop them pouring, an endless trail of emotion refusing to halt. At some point Bran has left his father alone in his grief. What exactly he grieves for he doesn’t know but there are no words to explain such love and sadness intertwined.

Though it may only be a child’s dream Ned can’t help but mourn for the Queen and her tragedy and hopes that she is happy wherever she is.


End file.
